Between Insanity and Madness. (Chapter 20- Larsen remembers)

The patrol had been deemed a success, even with Foley dead; still it was simple numbers in wars and battles. The Chinese had lost more men and therefore were the worst off right? It had been an hour after the skirmish had finished that the rest of 'Alpha' Company had arrived on the scene and by then many of the men had awoken out of their shock. Lieutenant Clapham was no longer shaking or crying, but his eyes were red and his face had a look of deep regret and sorrow on it. The rest of the Companies in the 2nd Battalion had all moved a little to the west of 'Alpha' and had bypassed the village and it's traumatic scenes altogether, pushing on and marching well into the night. They would all remain close to each other but it had been decided that 'Alpha' Company had some investigating to do, especially after the admission of 'mass murder of civilians on site' was thrown at Captain Seymore at the other end of the receiver.1

When he'd heard those few important words, shivers went down his spine. The receiver in his hand shook, little knowing that at the other hand, Sergeant Larsen was feeling just as bad, if not worse. He'd slammed the receiver down and thrown the phone into the maze of grass and dirt. He wanted none of that phone afterwards. Larsen had felt dirty even saying those words, he felt sick just thinking about it. He hadn't seen the bodies all in that one mud hut near the entrance of the village but when he heard Ryan throwing up for almost ten minutes non-stop and Hayden with his puppy dog eyes melting under a tirade of water, flooding from his eyes; he knew that it was bad. It was instinct, especially after the stuff he'd seen doing tours of Iraq, Afghanistan and the most disturbing; Bosnia.2

Captain Seymore himself was a little queasy just by hearing that sentence. He was just about to reply when the phone allegedly cut. Truth was that Larsen had thrown it as far away from him as possible.3

Some of the guys from the Company had been 'dicked' or assigned the horrid and unfancied job of 'gravedigger' which after some muttering and moaning they'd accepted with the utmost reluctance. Digging a mass grave was a hard task, especially since it had to be relatively deep and in the fading sunlight, it became an issue of how deep people had been digging and how big the hole would be. Arguments over the matter could be heard by many, who just shook their heads and laughed at the trivial arguments and bickering by grown up men who seemed more 'handbags at dawn' than anything else.4

The lilac colour of the sky had turned peach and then into a darkening black in between the time that the Company had arrived after being given the 'all clear' in such different circumstances then they'd expected.5

The Company had like mentioned before only started swarming around the area like fly to pile of dung, the activity was immense compared to the size of the area all these men were in. The red mud huts had, according to some of the soldiers; changed colours with the darkness taking over. Many noted that they'd turned yellow and a sort of luminous maroon. The straw whistling in the wind, the bamboo shoots were lessening their vice grip, the roof would crumble and like the world that was blowing itself up to smithereens, would soon be forgotten by what crawled out of the ruins.6

The Captain had taken his helmet off and a puddle of sweat and water fell out of it; his hair which was noticeably balding more and more each time you would see him. Tufts of dark black hair at the front followed by an alarming thinning nature that took over and the sides of his cranium were thick of hair as were the back, but on a dark-haired man such as himself, it was too easy to point out and too easy to stare at.7

'Should shave that all off you know.' Commented Corporal Neill Troye as he observed the Captain and his deputy; the Warrant Officer stride past, walking quickly, trying to find Sergeant Larsen. Dick just looked at him and guffawed, shaking his head at the cheap shot made about their Commanding Officer.8

'You gonna' tell him that?' Gene Claydon butted in. He was rolling a smoke up, lounging across the ground like a Cheshire cat stretching out, his claws were definitely out, but only momentarily before he curled back in and they became sheathed again. That was Gene for you; his character was that of a cat.9

'I'm feeling it for the guys there.' Added Colm Banks, who was sitting on the mud-bricks that encompassed the well. He was trying to balance himself as he said it, looking down at the well and seeing darkness, of an eternal kind and no water at all; just darkness and a big black hole.10

The Captain finally found Sergeant Larsen, who was smoking heavily in one of the fields about twenty metres away from the village. He'd decided to get away from that place and be on his own for a little while but with it being the subject of so much activity, even he couldn't get away from all the men wandering about and having a few smokes as well. He was surrounded by many, yet alone because that's how he felt. He was no longer shaking but was now realising what exactly had gone on. 11

'Ah Sergeant, there you are.' Shouted Captain Seymore, with Warren tagging along behind, a look of bereavement for his fellow kind rested upon Seymore's brow. 'Been trying to find you.'12

'Yeah? Well here I am sir.' Replied Larsen in between draws of his cigarette. He slowly took them in and then, with a few blows, the smoke came out of his mouth and like small mushroom clouds, settled around his face and body.13

'Just wanted to say Sergeant how well a job you've done here. We didn't know what we were walking into.' The Captain had walked over to the Sergeant brusquely and whipped his hand out to shake the Sergeant's on a patrol done well.14

'Uh, it was nothing Captain. Look, I need to say somethin'...' Joseph Larsen felt uncomfortable being given praise for a patrol that ended in one of the men dying and a shocking massacre being discovered. He looked dirty, unwashed for a good six days now and the sun had fallen to such a length that hardly anyone could be seen without looking hard or squinting.15

'Yeah we know Larsen. A few of our guys are taking pictures and writing reports on what Garten and Smith saw. They're being questioned now.' Captain Seymore in a way, wanted to brush it all under the red carpet as such. He didn't want anything to do with the massacre and the mass amount of tangled up and bloodied bodies discovered in the mud hut in the village.16

'So what's happening about it all?' Larsen scratched his head fervently. He was unsure to the developments of what was going to happen and how they'd pan out; he'd never get an answer either.17

It was seven in the morning, on the seventh day of the invasion of Borneo. Newspapers had been passed around, given to them by the Major personally. He did it as a morale boost after losing their first soldier of the campaign, but many more had been put back on the hospital ship after dysentery, heat exhaustion and severe dehydration had taken it's toll on thirty other man in the Battalion. They were down to a little less than two thousand strong and having been awake since four, before the start of the day, the camp they'd set up a mile away from the village was already picking up pace in terms of activity. One main activity of the day had been the digging of Foley's grave.18

Five men had been awake since two that morning, kicked out of their sleeping bags by the picket line that defended the temporary camp and were hurriedly told to start digging. It involved two Corporal's and three Private's of any Class to commence the grim task. The picket line though consisted of twenty men, spread evenly over the camp. One man was picket line commander for the whole night, he'd be a Sergeant rank and he'd never do it again on the same campaign whilst five of those men were Corporal's all with 'walkie talkies' on hand and the rest would be Private's. Each man was placed in a strategic position covering the camp from all angles and every two hours, all the men swapped over with the new picket line except the Sergeant who kept things in shape and defended the camp whilst everyone else slept.19

Joseph Larsen had been put on as Picket Line Sergeant for the night. Many of his platoon felt he'd been dealt a harsh few playing cards in that respect and it was easy to see why. Not only had he been involved in securing the village, he'd witnessed a young Private's death and had been shaken by the war crime that had happened in the village just a few hours before they arrived.20

He decided, around three in the morning, whilst watching the gravediggers start their work albeit rather lethargically to walk about the village and make peace with himself there or he'd know that he would end up being sent back to England with his wife.21

In a bizarre way, that made him think long and hard. He could become traumatised, even suicidal over what he'd seen and they'd send him back, pack his bags, strip him of his rank, give him a payout and a pension and set him free to be with his beautiful wife for the rest of his days. Then again, as he thought more and more about it, he wanted to see her after the war had ended, after he'd made sure his platoon had survived, after making sure men like Garten, Warren, Banks and Smith had survived with him. He could no longer leave this war and turn his back on the men around him without feeling grave remorse or guilt. He couldn't go back to his wife with all of that racking him up inside for the rest of hid days, never knowing what happened to the men and boys that had become his brothers, his helpers, his sons and they'd become a family for him to be a part of, even at the age of thirty-five.22

He'd walked down the field in the pitch black and answered the password in reply to the challenge given by eager soldier's whom were so well placed all he could do was laugh to himself that he swore he could hear voices. The men had been exhausted and mentally drained the last week but the first contact between the Chinese and the Brits had excited them and in the childish moments of a man's brain, the thought of a fight seemed like a good idea to get all the frustrations and anger out. 23

He wondered how men could act like that when hours ago, no one but six of them had volunteered to go into unknown territory and one of them was dead. It was almost as if the others were waiting to participate in the aftermath of the first skirmish.24

Finally Joseph had got to the village. It took a bit of stumbling about but since there were no mines in the south of Borneo, he was pretty sure of being safe and alive, unless some lost Chinese soldier came across him...25

He walked to the scene of Foley's death. He couldn't see the bloodstains that were on the hut or the bullet holes from where they'd passed straight through him, tearing open organs and zipping around his ribcage, doing the utmost in damage. It was known to many soldiers in myth that a bullet passing straight through you 'cleanly' was less of a dangerous bullet then one that hits your spine or ribcage and then starts rebounding about in your body, tearing holes in everything and creating havoc from within.26

It was so dark and he couldn't use his torch, it would be seen from miles around and he'd probably get shot at from the dug in and hidden picket line that looked upon the village as well as the field. He pushed his hand against the wall of the mud hut and already feeling out of breath from the guilt and sadness he felt for a young man that had died under his command again, he ran his hand down the hut till he felt the holes in which the bullets had sandwiched themselves in between. He felt such a deep regret and sorrow at not being able to go back and somehow save Foley, even though it was his death that started it all off.27

That young, quiet, shy and handsome man had died that day because he was so scared and nervous that he couldn't even pull the trigger without hesitating. It was either him or the Chinese soldier and he'd lost and paid for it by laying there in Garten's arms, propped up against the wall; dark red blood flowing out of his mouth and his abdomen in pieces. His cheek was hanging off and his face had been scarred and disfigured for the rest of his life anyway. 28

Maybe it was for the best...29

He avoided the area where all those bodies had been found. Some suggested there were so many dead; they were all piled up on top of each other like a pyramid of human carcasses. That's what they had to be to the enemy if that's what they'd done. Why didn't they at least leave the women and children dead where they lay? What was the point in all this? He couldn't understand and thought that if he peered into the mud hut and hadn't managed to gag or violently puke from the smell and the wounds inflicted upon them massacred, he'd only end up asking more questions that needed answering.30

No, he'd blamed himself already for the death of Foley, which was enough to take away from all of this. To shoulder some sort of blame for them too, would be too much for him. His sanity like anyone else's in war could be taken over by thoughts of demon's and angels alike; he didn't fancy losing his mind.31

So he vanished, back to the site where men slept and a boy had died, just a mile or so away.32